The Same as You. But Different. A Hero’s Journey

          “We are the same as you,” the Emcee said in a halting voice. “But different!”

         
          It was the annual production of the music therapy group my son belongs to. It’s diverse, with a wide range of ages, races, disabilities and functionality levels.

          This year’s show was unique in that its lines were written by the performers themselves. “A Hero’s Journey” expressed the joys, frustrations, and triumphs of life with a disability.

          Some participants wrote their lines conventionally. Some used picture boards. Some used a methodology called Rapid Prompting Method (RPM), which helps non- conversational individuals express themselves by spelling out responses on a letter board. Students used whatever methodology best gave them a voice.

          Dreams. Fears. Intelligence. Some wrote many lines, some only a few. What shone throughout this fun evening of song, dance, and drama written by the kids was that we have under-estimated the special needs community.

The audience heard of dreams, with the talent and intelligence to fulfill them. We heard fears. Society as a whole discriminates against the inability to express oneself, to do life in a typical manner. Special needs make people different. But they are the same: desiring to excel, to be given a chance, to study, pursue their dreams, contribute to society. I could write a series of blogs on what I heard that night. Mostly, we heard their desperate need for a voice.

          To hear them, we need to listen slowly. Intently. Without preconceived notions. Sometimes, via methods and technologies we aren’t comfortable with.

          People with special needs deserve respect. Because they often can’t talk well, or don’t appear intelligent, we make assumptions. We think they don’t hear or understand us. What we heard, over and over that night, was that they get it. There’s a smart, sensitive, feeling human behind the foolish façade. They understand when they’re dismissed as irrelevant. When they are cut, they bleed.

          Our son has autism. He is verbal, but doesn’t express feelings well. Using RPM, he wrote this line:

 “I am afraid of the frustration of this sucky autism life.”

My husband and I were devastated.

We didn’t know he felt that way. We hoped we could compensate for the pain of disability. We hoped he wasn’t bothered much by the things he couldn’t do. We hoped he was content.

Hope is not a strategy.

He’s been doing well, but sometimes the frustrations of sensory overload and seizures and not being able to make himself understood overwhelm him.

Then there’s a meltdown . He’s 19, husky, strong.  The meltdowns are ugly, the consequences steep.  

He’s getting better at control and medication helps, but sometimes it’s not enough, and Vesuvius blows. Afterwards, he cries and apologizes.  We all cry. It is sucky, this part of his Hero’s Journey.

Now that we have heard his voice, we won’t stop listening.

We’re all on a journey called life, with enemies and allies. But with special needs, the enemies are stronger and more numerous. Sometimes they are in unexpected places, like the school system. The allies are fewer. Many are scared because the needs overwhelm them. They feel helpless.

There are basic tools. Care, try to understand. Be willing to reach out.  Overcome your fear of what could happen, and invite a special needs person on an outing. Suggest your organization sponsor a special needs event or scholarship. Teach your kids they don’t have to be afraid of someone who drools, or talks funny, or doesn’t talk at all. It’s hammered into us not to discriminate on the basis of race, sex, religion or sexual preference. Let’s add disability to that list.

Special needs individuals are on a tough journey. They are Heroes, but if they’re going to make it, they need allies like you and me.

What do you think when you see someone with special needs? What do you do? How do you react?

Think through that.

Because after all, people with special needs are the same as us.

          But different.

         

         

         

Hummingbird Hostility

Hummingbirds fascinate me. From wings that beat seventy times a second, to the iridescent, jewel-toned colors they can turn on or off as needed, God's smallest birds are a marvel to watch. My office window has a large hummingbird feeder hung in the middle, so I can watch them when I should be working. It beats cleaning out my sock drawer.

  The feeder has four “blossoms” – room for four hummingbirds to satisfy their hunger. Around the corner there is a similar feeder, again with four flowers beckoning the thirsty to come and drink. Beyond the feeders there is a natural area filled with flowers that supposedly represent a delicious  buffet heaven for hummingbirds. Nectar abounds.

So why, in this Promised Land I’ve created for them, do the hummingbirds fight over the feeder? There’s plenty of room and syrup for four at a time. But, often when I look up, it’s to see one bird dive-bombing another, at a speed, I’ve read, of up to 60 mph. Why hurtle its awesome body like a torpedo against his fellow bird instead of peacefully going to the next blossom, or the next feeder, or one of the many flowers in the garden?  If he connects, it’s bound to hurt. If he doesn’t pull up in time-ouch! It’s like watching a World War I dogfight, where you know either Snoopy or the Red Baron is going down.

It’s a territorial thing, I’m told. But hummingbirds are very smart- their brain is, proportionately, the largest in the bird kingdom. They remember where each nectar “blossom” is, and how fast it refills once their long, hairy tongues have sucked it dry. Experience tells them the besotted human inside will refill their feeder with fresh, homemade nectar the minute it drops below an easily obtainable level. They won’t even have to strain their lovely throats to suction the last ambrosia-like drop.

Knowing this, they have to be aware several birds can feast at once.

A fast metabolism dictates they spend their time eating, not fighting. Their hearts beat over 1200 times a second, so they need to consume up to eight times their weight, daily. They have to eat at least half their weight daily in sugar. I could handle that requirement!

Yet instead of four of them cozying up to the nectar bar to drink in sweet harmony, they chase each other away. And while one chases another off, a third sneaks in and slurps nectar!

I want to set up a mini-stereo outside and play the hummingbird version of “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” I asked the neighborhood bird expert about hanging multiple feeders, like one per window pane. He said it wouldn’t help. The hummingbirds would apply some arbitrary bird-logic to determine which one blossom among all the feeders was the most desirable, then they would all fight over it, ignoring the wealth of nectar going neglected all around them.

I wonder if God watches His humans and wonders the same thing.